Spencer regretted the disagreement with Cameron almost instantly, but pride would never allow him to show remorse. They were like brothers. Eventually, the whole thing would be forgotten or so Spencer hoped. Of course, there were rules. New people were not allowed in the kitchen, but Dawn James and her daughters were not the typical "new people" who arrived at Wyndemere for sanctuary. His father had made the conditions of their stay very clear with his actions. No stranger had ever slept in his father's bed or in the west wing since the world changed. The reasons for the special treatment plagued Spencer's mind, but he resisted the urge to question Nikolas. His father governed Wyndemere like a democracy, but the elder Cassadine certainly had his limits.

"Spence."

He paused in the hallway. So deep in thought, he hadn't realized that he stood in the doorway to Thom Hardy's office/sitting room. He stepped inside and said, "Uncle, how are you?"

"So formal," Thom said with a chuckle. "Come in, close the door, and sit."

"How can I remember all of those orders?" Spencer asked with a smile. "Which comes first?"

x "Funny."

Spencer did as he was instructed and made himself comfortable on the sofa. Thom sat on easy chair across from him and quietly assessed him. Spencer shook his head.

"You know I hate when you do that?"

Thom shrugged. "I don't care. Sometimes, you remind me of Nikolas back when we were a lot younger. Right now is one of those times. How are you?"

Spencer frowned. "Did he put you up to this? A little interrogation and then you report back?"

Thom's expression remained even. "You know I don't operate like that. The last few days have been…not necessarily hectic, but different."

"Because of the pop diva's arrival."

This time, Thom's green eyes darkened to jade. "Don't. You don't know her—"

"And you do?"

"Yes," Thom said. "I do. We're friends."

Spencer released a loud humorless laugh that he instantly wanted to reclaim as he read Thom's face. "I didn't mean… Uncle, I've never once heard you mention her. Not once! In my entire life. We've talked about music and your robust teen years with Father. You've never mentioned knowing Dawn James. Like, c'mon. Why wouldn't you or Father talk about her? And then, her daughter talks about Grandfather as if she actually knew him! There are too many secrets. I don't like any of this."

Thom held up his hand. "Whoa. Slow down."

Spencer drew in a deep breath. The one thing he had always enjoyed about his relationship with his father's best friend had been the openness and complete honesty. In a world where deceit and deception were thick in his bloodlines from both his paternal and maternal sides, having an adult he could trust without restriction made a difference. Not that he did not trust his father, but their familial relationship often put a strain on everything. Nikolas always made his position clear—he was Spencer's father and not one of his friends. In that role, Nikolas often made decisions that Spencer disagreed with if not outright hated. On the other hand, Thom Hardy was their Switzerland in human form. Always neutral. Always there. Always true. Spencer refused to imagine a world without him.

"It feels like you lied about her," Spencer finally admitted quietly.

Thom winced as if he'd been punched. "That's going a little far, dontcha think? Just because I haven't mentioned her? Spence, there's quite a few things about my life that I don't discuss with you. This may come as a shock, but I had a life before you were born."

"Was she a big part of it?"

Thom released a low chuckle. He stood and moved to the cabinet where he kept a modest assortment of spirits. While he selected a specific brandy, he appeared to ponder Spencer's question. "I guess that will depend on how you define 'big,' right?"

"Uncle, c'mon!" Spencer groaned. "Stop with the semantics."

"Slang changes," Thom responded. "I'm making sure my ass is covered in advance."

"It sounds like you're deflecting."

"I don't know what you're asking." Thom responded after pouring two fingers worth of brandy into a glass and taking a sip. "I already told you she and I were friends and you called me a liar, so…"

"I didn't quite say that!"

"You didn't say the opposite either." Thom reached for an empty glass, but ultimately shook his head. "Nikolas would kill me."

"I've had worse."

"I'm sure you have, but you haven't had worse poured by me in my living space, have you?"

Spencer chuckled. "No, Uncle, I have not."

Thom returned to the easy chair with his refreshed glass in hand. "To answer your unanswered question…Dawn and I were tight, but it wasn't like that. We were cool, you know, good friends. Her mom and my mom were best friends, so she and I were born into it."

"What happened? What ended your friendship?"

"Who said that it did? Spencer, as you get older, you'll find out that deep connections are not limited by time and space." Thom lifted his glass in a mock toast. "The longer you live, the more you learn."

An assortment of pencils covered the foot of Trina's bed. An eraser and sharpener were within hand's reach. She sat with her legs crossed in the middle. Several candles blazed on the nearby side table and provided enough light. Her critical eye admired the sketch of Spencer. It was nowhere close to the perfection of the original, but the edges were beginning to soften. His eyes had that mysterious glint that intrigued her. A faint smile of satisfaction lifted the corners of her mouth. Nice, she thought.

The bedroom door opened. Noelle entered. She had packages of chips and cookies. She tossed a couple onto Trina's bed before collapsing onto her bed. "Have you been to the kitchen?"

"I haven't," Trina replied. "I'm more interested in checking out the other wings."

"I'm sure if you ask Spencer, he'll happily oblige."

Trina gave her a hard look from over the top of her sketchpad. "Oh, hush."

Noelle laughed.

"Where have you been?" Trina asked, dividing her attention between Noelle and the image coming to life on her pad. "You were gone and Aunt Dawn was asking about you until she conked out again."

"I actually ended up in the kitchen," Noelle said. "I met Cameron. He made us lunch and afterward, I took Mama some soup. The look she gave me when I handed it to her—whew, chile! I'm glad Dr. Ashford came in to check her bandages because she was about to go off."

"Finally!" Trina said with a smile. "Sounds like she's getting better."

"I was happy to see it," Noelle admitted. "Those first few days were scary as fuck!"

"I know, right." Trina set her pad down onto the bed. "They were horrible. Like worse than bad. She was barely moving and Mr. Cassadine seemed so worried, too."

"Yeah…"

"He tried to play it off." Trina tapped her pencil as she thought back on the past few days. "I guess he was trying to reassure us that we were safe no matter what?"

"None of that mattered to me if Mama didn't wake up," Noelle said quietly, "but thank God she did. And now, she's wanting better food. I can't remember the last time she complained about food."

"She always makes sure that we have the better selection. Even if it's the chunky peanut butter instead of smooth. Remember the night we were down to just a few spoonfuls?"

Noelle pulled herself into a sitting position. "I'm sure that as long as I live I'll never forget any of this. We took a lot of things for granted. Well, I know I did. I'd get mad at Mama because of the touring. Another hotel. More room service. All the bodyguards. Then everything changed…so fast. But there were lots of nights, especially after Daddy first left, that I'd give anything for a time machine. Anything to have our version of home. Anything to not live in dread of raiders attacking or watching them hurt her and not being strong enough to stop it."

"She told us to run." Trina hated the memory of that awful moment, too. Guilt returned at the oddest moments. She thought that she and Noelle had made a silent vow to never discuss it, but the moment had arrived for that pact to be broken. "We ran because she told us to."

Noelle grimaced. "I heard you the first time, and I know she did. If we were stronger, maybe she wouldn't have."

"We're her girls," Trina said quietly. "You can't really believe she would’ve allowed us to stay."

"We have our weapons back now," Noelle said. "We can start practicing again. Safety is not guaranteed. Not anymore—"

"Okay, Uncle Lorenzo—"

"I know I sound like Daddy," Noelle cut in, "but he was right. We can never take anything for granted ever again."

Trina glanced at her current work in progress. The sketch of Spencer was slowly coming together. Faces were not her best subjects, but Dawn often advised that creative artists worked at their craft to become better, so Trina was working. As she focused on his forehead, she spoke to Noelle.

“What do you think about this place? Does it seem like what she described?”

“I think there’s more to it than what we’ve seen so far and I don’t think Mama told us everything, but what she did say… I guess it fits. Cassadines do live here,” Noelle said with a faint chuckle.

“You’re silly. Yes, they’re here, alright,” Trina agreed. “Think we should go on an adventure tonight?”

“Beyond the kitchen?”

Trina nodded. “Beyond the west wing! Let’s see what’s over on the other side.”

“At midnight?”

“Yup.”

Noelle rolled over and blew out her candle. “Then, I better get some rest.”

Nikolas inspected the parapet on the south wing with the knowledge that distraction had kept him remiss in his duties. Of course, the distraction had a name and they shared a past, but more pressing matters demanded his attention. Another snowfall added more feet of snow onto Wyndemere. The structure was centuries old and had already withstood more than Nikolas dared ask, but the last few years were certainly starting to catch up.

Static from the radio buzzed. The series of check-ins followed as the guards followed protocol. Nikolas registered the sounds as he continued his rounds. The brisk air awakened his senses in a strange way. He felt invigorated and he knew the weather was not the single source. How could one woman affect him so? They were just kids all those years ago—only a few years older than Spencer and her girls. Most held first loves dear and moved on. But the way they both remembered their last moments together strongly suggested that moving on had yet to be accomplished in a truly meaningful way for either of them.

"Nikolas! I didn't know you were on patrol tonight." Braden Ward was dressed in multiple layers complete with goggles and a skull cap. His utility belt secured his weapon, flashlight, and walkie talkie. His crinkled brow conveyed his concern about the surprise of Nikolas' presence. "Thom said you'd be busy for a few more days. Detail is covered."

"I know it is," Nikolas said. "The additional snowfall had me concerned. Has anyone seen anymore tracks?"

Braden's frown deepened. "I'm not sure there were tracks. Look, I know what the others think, but I haven't seen evidence of raiders—"

"No one said anything about raiders," Nikolas interjected. "It could be animals or yes, people who are looking for help."

"Thom increased patrols and we're adding more to work the interior," Braden said. "Sounds to me like someone is thinking that raiders could be headed here."

"Of course, that's always a possibility," Nikolas said.

"We're ready if they're stupid enough to try anything."

"One can never over prepare. Over confidence can be a downfall," Nikolas warned. "We don't know what their numbers are nor what weaponry they have on hand."

"Maybe it's time we find out."

Nikolas frowned. "What are you suggesting?"

"Sneaking over and sneaking back." Braden shrugged.

"Nothing is ever that simple." Nikolas moved to the far end of the parapet. The use of security lights had been reduced in effort to reserve their power source. On a cloudless night, the ability to see across Spoon Island was fair, but with the inclement weather, the moon and stars limited their sight. Nikolas thought he saw a glimmer of light where Metro Court stood, but he couldn't be sure. How could he risk sending anyone on what could potentially be a suicide mission?

"Port Charles is not a mystery to me," Braden argued. "It's my home. I know what I'm getting myself into."

"Raiders are ruthless and would think nothing of making an example of you, especially in consideration of your family."

"You mean my father," Braden said. "Besides, you're assuming they would catch me. Surely, you have more faith in me than that."

From his posture and tone, Nikolas was instantly reminded of Braden's similarities to his father, Justus, and also to their extended family, the Quartermaines. The inherent self-confidence was invaluable and served as an extra boost in the present times. However, again, over confidence could prove detrimental. Braden's strategic and analytical abilities were on par with his impulsiveness. Nikolas admired his strengths, but the weaknesses needed attention.

"Of course, I have faith." Nikolas sighed. "Darkness would serve us better, but leaving tonight is too soon. We need time to plan this through—"

"We?" Braden shook his head. "Wyndemere needs you, and so does your son. I can do this alone—"

"No, alone isn't an option. Talk to Thom for a recommendation. Check in with me tomorrow afternoon. Understood?"

Braden nodded once. "Yes, sir!"

Nikolas ignored the faintly disguised sarcasm as the two men departed. The surveillance was long overdue. Formal law and order vanished so long ago that he almost forgot what that meant. Maintaining order at Wyndemere was not without complications, but the risk of interference by raiders anytime they visited the mainland outweighed any issues Nikolas ever encountered on his home estate. He had seen the remains left by a raid attack. The nightmares that followed plagued him for weeks. The only saving grace was for once Spencer had been unable to join him and had missed the carnage left behind. To continue to remain secure more information about the raiders was needed. Perhaps a blizzard would provide a perfect cloak for Braden and a partner to sneak in and out without detection. Perhaps.

From what Esme could see, the infirmary appeared to be well tended. Someone was always in and out of her room. She never had a moment to herself. She wasn't sure if the lack of privacy was intentional or just the usual mode of operation. The constant company felt strange after being alone for the past few days. However, she appreciated the warm showers and hot meals. The opposite was not ideal despite the means justifying the ends.

Her space was in an open room. A curtain replaced where a door would have been. The wide glass plane window opened to the hallway where she could see several attendants at a large desk. Since Jordan and Dante left her there, only a doctor and nurse had been in to see her. She wondered what the protocol was. Would she be allowed to roam freely, or did they have rules in place for newcomers?

"Hey, there." The curtain fluttered and the doctor returned. He was tall, brunette and had a firm disposition. He carried a clipboard and a stethoscope hung around his neck. His black scrubs were clean and so were his shoes.

"Hi," Esme said.

"I'm Dr. Quartermaine, or you can call me Michael," he said. "You don't remember me, do you? How's your wrist?"

She shrugged. "You tell me."

She extended her bandaged arm toward him. He set his clipboard on the bedside table, snapped on a pair of gloves, and carefully held her arm. As he performed his examination, she continued to watch him and make mental notes. After he finished, he scribbled something on the clipboard.

"Am I well enough to leave?"

A slight frown creased his brow. Then he shook his head. "Not quite."

"Why not? My wrist is set, and I don't feel sick."

"You'll be here for a little while longer for observation—"

"What if I don't want to be?" Esme asked.

"If you choose not to be, the other option is to return to the mainland. From my understanding, Jordan and Dante found you in less than habitable conditions. Do you have a home there? Once the weather clears, we can have someone escort you back—"

"No, no, no." Esme's heart raced. Tears wetted her eyes. "Please, no. I have nowhere to go. Can't I stay here? I'll do anything--"

"The only thing you have to do is just get better. The rest will be decided after that," Michael said.

"So, there's still a chance I may not be able to stay?"

"I didn't say that," Michael said. "For now, you have shelter, food, and care."

"I can do a lot of things to earn my keep…"

"Esme," he said firmly. "No one's asked you to earn your keep. Just take it day by day. I have more patients to see. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

She shook her head. "No, I guess I'll just have to wait and see."